Saturday, 27 September 2014

Good Cop, Bad Cop is just 99c on Amazon for this week only! Go grab yourself some sexy reading and meet Jose and Dillon, definitely guys you want around in a crisis.

Blurb

Fame and fortune is a blessing that, for me, has changed its taste from sumptuously sweet to murderously bitter. Leaving me no choice but to look over my shoulder at every turn and question the scruples of even my most faithful friends.

I would give up all the glowing adoration from my fans in a heartbeat in exchange for not running for my life. But fate doesn’t deal cards that way, and instead I find myself far out at sea and being bounced between two hot cops—one so chilly just his glance gives me frostbite, and the other showing a kindness that barely covers his own demons.

So with nowhere else to turn, quite literally, I have to trust two men I hardly know with my life and cope without the luxuries my status usually affords me. But it’s not long before I discover when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Turns out these cops are not only the wrong guys to mess with, they also have partnership skills above and beyond the requirements of their day job. And for once, while just being me without the frills, I get to discover that they are as sinfully bad as they are dreamily good in every department, and it seems, I am the one they want cuffed and controlled at the same time as they are protecting and serving.

Thursday, 25 September 2014

Zara is a Domme of the first order. She sets her subtle trap for men to please her at a neighborhood coffeehouse, and today, she's landed Victor in her sexy web. Victor is a successful business man--owner of his own architectural firm--but he's single and thinks he's a good catch. (He is, BTW) He is not, AT ALL, prepared to submit to the diminutive vixen he thought he picked up. He is intrigued however, and they strike a bargain: Victor submits for Zara's sub training for a month, to see if the lifestyle is for him. They can part amicably at the end of the time, if they so choose.

Victor agrees. He is resposible for so much in his professional life, he feels an uneasy freedom in letting Zara take the lead sexually. During their time together he is aroused and exposed in ways he has never been before. He is so consumed by the thrill, he routinely forgets his heart medication, which causes problems later.

For Zara's part, she has not had this much contact with a regular sub in a long time. And Victor's calm and compassionate demeanor begins to thaw her Ice Queen edges. Soon, both Zara and Victor are experiencing something more than lust, something more like affection. They share a betrayal in common, which further cements their bond.

There are many (many) sexy passages--with an interesting switch scene that obliterates Zara's defenses. I liked that, really. That she was willing to push her boundaries, in much the same way she insisted Victor push his. It showed equality in the dynamic which is rare in a BDSM book.

Expect filthy-smexytimes to be liberally smeared throughout the pages. It's erotica at it's most sensual, and sure to please fans of the genre. I know I had some O_O moments, which was vicariously fun."

Wednesday, 24 September 2014

Out now! My two new paranormal menage a trois erotic romances - Bite Mark and Claw Mark. Pick up your copies and get swept into a dark and foggy London Town where vampires and shifters lurk around every corner waiting to thrill, tease and please!

Not only is she very talented she’s an all-round lovely lady. Anyone who’s had the pleasure to interact with her will tell you.

At the moment Sommer’s family are going through a really challenging time, her husband is fighting pancreatic cancer and it is putting a strain on then in many ways. What we're hoping we can do with our Snog for Sommer is to help take a little of the financial strain off their shoulders.

So, how do you help? Well, Just hop around the different blogs and different snogs listed on Victoria's site, you’ll find excerpts, original flash fiction, surprises and prizes and maybe even some hidden treasure! If you can donate too (link here) that would be absolutely wonderful.

Professional life in the
City of London is tough going which is why my husband Gabe and I live by
the motto work hard and play hard. So when something, or rather someone,
comes along that changes how he wants to play I’m intrigued by our
sexy new game.

But there's always private
sides to the ones you love, and in this case new thoughts and desires
are stealing Gabe’s dreams. It’s not until I meet Brent—gorgeous
and sophisticated yet soul-achingly alone—that I begin to understand the
complex layers of Gabe’s needs and exactly what I have to do.

But I’m not afraid; in fact
the idea of two men turns me the hell on. In a whirlwind of romance, fear,
desire and a new cresting wave of passion we open up to each other,
testing the water for one weekend only. Or is it? Will we ever be the
same again? Can Gabe and I survive our decision to let a third into our
bed? Can Brent just walk away and, more importantly, will we let him?

Excerpt - 18+

The
bathroom door opened, and Gabe wandered out wearing his favorite pair of worn
jeans. His chest was bare and his hair was damp and pushed back over his head.
He’d shaved that morning but I could smell a fresh application of his most
expensive cologne.

“How
are you doing?” I asked, standing.

Damn,
he looked so absolutely fuckable.

He
walked up to me and cupped my face. “I’m fine, are you?”

“Yes.”
My stomach was tense and my skin hot and tingly, a bit like going up the ramp
on a rollercoaster. But I was okay.

I ran
my hand down his chest then smoothed it over the lower curve of his defined
pectoral muscles. “I put out the lube and condoms.”

He
glanced at the locker. “Thanks.”

There
was a knock at the door.

We both
looked at each other then at the entrance to the room.

The
door opened and Brent walked in.

He wore
tight black boxers and nothing else. Like Gabe’s, his hair was damp.

He shut
the door up and stood still, staring at us.

Gabe
dropped his hands from my face and I took a step away.

“It’s
dark in here,” Brent said.

“Too
dark?” Gabe asked. “I can open the curtains.”

“No,
it’s perfect,” Brent said, walking around the end of the bed and up to Gabe. “I
can see you but it’s not dazzling. My eyes are adjusting now.” He smiled and
gestured to the chair, looked my way. “You’ve found your viewing position, I
see.”

“Yes.”
I nodded.

He
stepped past Gabe, reached for my hand and drew my knuckles to his lips. “I
hope you enjoy the show.”

I
swallowed. “I’m sure I will.”

He
released me and turned to Gabe.

I
admired Brent’s torso as he moved. Long and sleek, his muscles rippled gently
beneath the surface. He didn’t appear to have any fat on him, he was just neat,
harnessed strength. And his boxers covered an impressive bulge, the outline of
which was easily made out. I’d guess he was already half-mast just with the
anticipation of fucking Gabe.

“You
smell good,” he said to Gabe as he ran the tip of his index finger over Gabe’s
shoulder and down his bicep. “Delicious, in fact.”

Gabe
tensed. “Thank you.”

“Relax,”
Brent said. “You want this.”

“I do,”
Gabe said, “I want you.”

Brent
smiled then leaned forward and kissed my husband.

I stood
and watched, mesmerized, the way I had been when I’d spied on them. Their large
jaws moved in time. Both men had their eyes shut and the dance of their mouths
showed their sleek tongues touching and exploring.

Gabe
moaned a little, how he did when he became lost in a kiss, and he set his hands
on the sides of Brent’s waist. The touch seemed a little hesitant, a bit
awkward, though I could tell he was completely invested in the kiss.

Brent
pulled back a fraction. He rested his palm on Gabe’s cheek then turned to me.
“Come here, Hayley.”

I did
as he’d asked. “What?” I asked quietly. My heart was thudding—just seeing them
kiss did seriously stimulating things to my libido.

“Kiss
him,” Brent said. “Kiss your husband.”

That
was an instruction I didn’t need to be given twice.

Brent
kept his hand on Gabe’s face as I meshed my lips with Gabe’s, prodding his
tongue with mine and absorbing the lingering flavor of Brent in his mouth.

When I broke
the kiss, Brent placed his hand on my face, too, so he was holding us both.

“You
two are hot together,” he said smiling. “And so perfect for one another. I feel
honored that you’ve let me in to fulfill a fantasy.”

“We
feel the same about you being here,” Gabe said. He touched Brent’s mouth with
his fingertips and traced the shape of his lips.

Brent
smiled and gazed at Gabe. He then dropped his hand from my face and, as I’d
done earlier, he caressed Gabe’s chest.

I felt
Gabe’s shoulder shift against mine as he sucked in a breath. Being touched
sensually, by a man, was what he’d wanted.

Brent
smiled, but only briefly because then he opened his mouth, leaned forward and
took the head of Gabe’s cock between his lips. He gripped Gabe’s shaft with his
right hand and with his left, scooped up his balls.

“Ah, fuck,”
Gabe said. He toppled backward a few inches before adjusting his balance.

I
snapped out my arm and curled it around his waist, felt his weight sag against
me as I supported him.

“That’s…oh,
God, your mouth on me…Brent.”

Gabe
didn’t need to say the words. Brent’s mouth, stretched around the flare of
Gabe’s cock, was a beautiful and highly erotic sight.

Brent
slid Gabe’s shaft deeper. His eyes were shut and his jaw pulled wide. He fed
Gabe in, slipping his fingers over his erection.

Gabe
reached out and weaved his fingers into Brent’s hair. “Fucking hell,” he
gasped.

Brent
kept going. I knew how much of Gabe I could take in my mouth, and it wasn’t to
the root but Brent was nearly there now. His cheeks bulged and his nostrils
flared. I could hear him breathing hard through his nose.

Gabe
panted and stared downward.

I held
him tight, my nipples peaking against my floaty sundress and my pussy dampening
the gusset of my knickers.

“Ahh,
yeah…”Gabe said, rocking his hips forward.

Brent’s
face became buried in Gabe’s pubic hair. His shoulders were raised, tense, and
his hand that had gripped Gabe’s cock now squeezed Gabe’s hip, his knuckles
were paling.

I knew
he’d be fighting his gag reflex. He had Gabe so deep, so far down.

He
began to withdraw.

Gabe’s
cock came into view, inch-by-inch, saliva-coated and shiny.

Gabe
dragged in a deep breath then blew it out slowly.

Brent
took hold of Gabe’s shaft again and held it tight. He pumped from the base to
the tip several times, pulling on the skin and working his tongue over and into
the slit.

Gabe
moaned and flexed his hips.

“Ready
for more?” Brent asked, looking up at Gabe.

“Yes,”
Gabe said. “Absolutely.”

Again,
Brent opened his mouth wide. He took Gabe on a fast ride to full-depth.

Gabe
gasped and curled his fingers into fists in Brent’s hair.

My
hands tingled with a desire to also touch Brent. Feel his hair, the texture of
his skin. But I didn’t, I kept them to myself. One arm around Gabe’s waist, the
other bunching up a handful of my sundress. I couldn’t interfere, that wasn’t
my role here.

Brent
was pulling back and sinking deep on Gabe’s cock over and over, his whole body
rocking backward and forward.

Gabe
was breathing fast, his abdomen was tense and I could feel tremors rippling
over his muscles.

“Stop,”
Gabe said suddenly. “Please, no more. You’re going to make me come.”

Friday, 5 September 2014

Light hearted, sexy fun by the sea is the theme of this
erotic anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.

From exotic locales such as Croatia and Australia to the
coastal caves of England, Smut by the Sea Volume 3 has it all. Whatever your
interpretation of naughty seaside fun, there’s something nestling between the
covers for you. Kinky role play, gorgeous artists, bobbing boats, sexy cougars,
hunky hermits and more abound in this exciting collection of stories from
erotica’s finest authors.

Karen grimaced as she drove the car onto the Dungeness
estate. She knew for a fact she was on said estate because she’d just passed a
sign proudly proclaiming her whereabouts. Personally, she couldn’t see what all
the fuss was about. It looked pretty damn grim, in her opinion.

She sighed. As soon as she’d been handed the assignment,
she’d known it would be a bitch. The blog she wrote for, Universe of Quirk,
published just that—anything quirky. This meant there was a huge amount of scope
for articles for the site. Mostly it was about weird phenomena, picking out
oddities in popular culture and freaky findings the world over. For the most
part, Karen loved her job—she had a genuine interest in the bizarre and
unusual, and a good nose for sniffing things out to write about. She didn’t
often have to leave the comfort of her office chair to write her articles—the
Internet gave her all the information she needed, at the touch of a button. And
what she couldn’t gather via Google, she could find out by interviewing people.
By email, phone or Skype.

But not Tom Pettyfer, it seemed. According to her notes, he
was an ex-army dude who’d had some kind of meltdown, quit his job and moved to
a shack in Dungeness. He was now a total hermit—hence the in-person interview.
He had no telephone, let alone a computer or Internet access. Her boss had had
to arrange the appointment by snail mail, for heaven’s sake! As such, there’d
been no way of double checking he was still available. Karen hoped like hell he
hadn’t suddenly decided to go out—leaving her with a long journey home with no
article in the bag.

Continuing along the poorly-surfaced road, Karen slowed the
car to a crawl—both to avoid damaging the rental vehicle and also to squint at
the shacks she passed to find the one she was looking for. They all seemed to
have names rather than numbers, which made the signs easier to read, but it was
more difficult to find the right one, as there was no rhyme or reason to the
layout. For all she knew, Tom Pettyfer’s shack could be the very last one on
the lane.

Soon, she discovered that was not the case. Tom’s home was a
strange-looking wooden building that wasn’t near to anything else. It sat alone
in the shingle, a sparse garden-type thing surrounding it, and an ancient rusty
car on the driveway. She supposed there was no point buying and running an
expensive car if one didn’t go anywhere. Perhaps he just used it for errands
and grocery shopping. He couldn’t shop online—so how else would he buy food and
other necessities? How did he pay for those things if he never went out, didn’t
have a job?

She reminded herself that this was the whole point of the
trip. To meet this hermit and ask him questions, to find out why he lived the
way he did, what made him tick. What had happened to make him choose this
lifestyle?

Her car wouldn’t fit on the driveway behind his so she
parked at the side of the road in front of his house, figuring traffic wouldn’t
exactly be a problem anyway. Looking around, she was struck by the eeriness of
the place, the loneliness. Add that to the ugly nuclear power station perched
at the edge of the estate and you had a recipe for… well, hell on earth,
really. And they called Kent the garden of England.

Pulling herself back to the task at hand, Karen grabbed her
stuff then stepped out of the car, locking it and walking up to Tom’s shack.
The sooner she got the interview over with, the sooner she could leave this
desolate dump. Grey clouds overhead threatened rain, and she could hear the sea
crashing mercilessly against the shore, the saltiness in the air filling her
nostrils and coating her tongue. None of those things endeared her to the
place.

Reaching the front door of Tom’s shack, she sucked in a deep
breath and let it out, then straightened her stance. She was so used to working
from home, lounging in her office chair as she researched and typed away, that
she’d almost forgotten what it was like to meet someone on a professional
basis. It was imperative to get this guy to trust her, so he’d open up and give
her some good stuff for her piece. The project was a pain in the arse, but she
couldn’t grumble too much—the site’s editor had made it worth her while
financially.

Satisfied her body language was business-like yet friendly;
Karen knocked on the door, and waited.

A couple of seconds later, the door opened. “Hi,” said a guy
about her age, “you must be Karen, from Universe of Quirk.”

“Uh, yeah… that’s me.” So much for being professional. She
hadn’t been expecting a god to answer the door. It had totally thrown her. “I
mean, sorry, yes. I’m Karen Wilson. Lovely to meet you.” Holding out her hand,
she tried not to swoon as the hottie reached out and gripped it, his own hand
warm and dry, the shake firm but not crushing. Her belly did flip flops.

*****

Editor Bios:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and
erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100
publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several
editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic
Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and
co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house.
She owns Erotica For All, is book
editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth
of The Brit Babes. Find out more
at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk.
Join her on Facebook
and Twitter, and subscribe to her
newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Victoria Blisse is a Mother, Wife, Christian, Manchester United Fan and Award Winning Erotica Authoress. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco and Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea anthologies.

Victoria is also one of the brains behind the fabulous Smut Events, get togethers for authors and writers alike. Check out http://smutters.co.uk for the details of the next smut gathering.

She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker (She is TEB’s resident “Naked Chef”) and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.

Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

Thursday, 4 September 2014

I'm currently half way through reading Kristina Lloyd's new release UNDONE and I'm totally loving it. It's sexy, dark, brilliantly written and I'm hooked on the unusual characters and plot line. So please join me in welcoming Kristina to my blog today to chat about the heroine of UNDONE - Lana Greenwood.

Undone and Lana Greenwood

You know how it is: you’re mooching about on Facebook and, for some reason or another, a friend of a friend snags your attention? Maybe they have an interesting profile pic, or perhaps they said something smart or funny in a thread. Either way, you click on their profile and, woah, they’re one of those people with zero privacy settings. And the next thing you know, you’re going through the wedding album of a total stranger, grinning at photos of them as a kid in pigtails, and gawping at that wild night out they had in a fetish bar Berlin in 2003.

No? Just me then?

Lana Greenwood, the central character in my forthcoming book, Undone, was born from a Facebook mooch. The FB woman I spontaneously spied on had a classic ‘English’ beauty: pale, fine featured, hair in a blonde bob, but she seemed devoid of the fragility often associated with the look. She had a clear interest in clothes, design, music, the arts, and was always well presented, mixing vintage with contemporary fashions, her lips permanently scarlet red and impeccably painted. She had a couple of young kids, no partner in sight but plenty of friends, and was, at a guess, in her early forties. I liked her. She seemed happy, creative, vibrant and fulfilled, and her wardrobe was to die for.

She became the basis for Lana, a forty-one year old divorcee with her own cocktail bar and a vintage handcuff collection. Lana is smart and sophisticated, a former interior designer with a keen sense of style. Undone begins when Lana has an MFM threesome at a party in a manor house. On the morning after, one of the guys is found dead in the swimming pool. Lana embarks on a relationship with the second guy, Sol Miller, an ex-New Yorker and a compelling dom, despite fearing he may be implicated in the death.

While the book features a central couple, it’s also a thriller. I wanted the story to have a noirish feel : a low-lit, claustrophobic, urban mystery, steeped in tension and shot through with anxiety, lust and suspicion. I think of Lana as having a touch of the silver screen about her. She’s a latterday Grace Kelly or Lauren Bacall, albeit one who’s super kinky and into being handcuffed.

Lana’s old-fashioned glamour is echoed in the actual narrative, with the story being relayed to us via her handwritten diary. She’s a woman who likes order and control but, troubled by the mysterious death and by doubts about Sol, she fears she’s losing her grip. The diary is her attempt to regain control and, she reasons, may prove a useful record of events should the Police call her and Sol in for questioning.

Here’s a brief excerpt:

“Last night, I woke from a fever dream of jackboots thumping down a corridor, black, glinting, vicious. They were coming to get me as a lay in my own bed, alone in the dark. When I opened my eyes, I was desperately confused because I was lying in my own bed, alone in the dark. Fact and fantasy swam in a whirl. I strained to listen above the pounding of my heart. I was wet with sweat. At the juncture of my thighs I was wet too because I knew when they found me, my oppressors would be merciless.

All these men are Sol, and Sol is all these men.

I fear authority and I crave it.

I can’t allow the truth to rise up like this. This diary will help me stay sane.”

A short while later, we’re shown Lana in the act of writing. It’s late at night, and she’s sipping a brandy and soda, a drink for the upper classes from a forgotten era.

“It’s nearly 2 a.m. now. I’m sitting in bed with my journal propped on my knees, ink-blue handwriting making veins on the page as if I’m bringing something to life. Monsters and magic. Dr Frankenstein, I presume. I’ve tilted the slats of the bedroom blinds so stripes of silver-white light from the lantern in the courtyard pattern the room. The noirish illumination is negligible but at this brandy-steeped hour, writing by the glow of my reading lamp, the reminder of the ordinary, outside world brings a comforting stability.

I take comfort too from being analogue. I feel more truthful when writing longhand, forming shapes on the page unique to me, the words flowing from my fingers rather than appearing on a screen in the tap-tap uniformity of Calibri or Times. And a brandy and soda, for shame! I ought to be wearing a Vanity Fair bed jacket in peach chiffon and lace while sipping from lead crystal. But I’m distilling my story, and the drink matches my mood: a sparkle of alertness with an undernote of hot, sweet darkness.”

If you’d like to know more about Undone’s hot, sweet darkness, please hop over to my blog for an excerpt, and check out the other stops on my Sexy September blog tour.

About Kristina

Kristina Lloyd writes erotic fiction about sexually submissive women who like it on the dark, dirty and dangerous side. Her novels are published by Black Lace and her short stories have appeared in dozens of anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collection, in both the UK and US. She lives in Brighton, England.

About Undone

When Lana Greenwood attends a glamorous house party she finds herself tempted into a ménage à trois. But the morning after brings more than just regrets over fulfilling a fantasy one night stand. One of the men she's spent the night with is discovered dead in the swimming pool. Accident, suicide or murder, no one is sure and Lana doesn't know where to turn. Can she trust Sol, the other man, an ex-New Yorker with a dirty smile and a deep desire to continue their kinky game?

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